Tall Man Down - 13. Chapter 13

On Monday, shortly before noon, Don unexpectedly came up the stairs and stood at the back of the theater. I was up on stage, taping out a ground plan with two of my students. Don had just gotten a call from Greg Stratton.

“What about?” I asked, waving the students off to lunch and thanking them with a grin.

“He forwarded an e-mail he wanted me to look at.”

“What’d it say?”

Don brought it up on his phone. The message read, Ask Larry Marsden where he was when President Catlin died.

I laughed. “Probably some crank. Larry?” I laughed again.

“Who is he?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. That’s why I came.”

“I thought you’d met him at our house.”

Don shook his head.

“He’s a friend of ours. Bio teacher. Also Assistant Dean.”

“Of what?”

Don had learned there were several.

“Academic Affairs. He’s Rebecca Varner’s assistant. Cleans up all her messes.”

Don absorbed that while I studied the e-mail. “When did it come?”

“Right before Stratton called. Maybe twenty minutes ago. He said it just popped up.”

“And you came right here?”

“He wants to see me. I needed some information first.”

“Did anyone else get it?”

“Not that I know of. At least no one else phoned.”

I looked at the message again. It came from a college address at 11:22. The screen name was Hackerma, followed by the usual school codes. Now admittedly, some screen names make no sense, but this one was accidentally dumber than most. Mother of Hacker? Nah. My school e-mail address was Gandrus – my first initial followed by as many letters of my last name that came to eight. Or less. And sure enough, when we went down to my office, and I checked campus listings on my laptop, up came a student named Heather Ackerman. A freshman who’d never been in one of my classes.

I told Don this, and he simply nodded.

“It should be easy to track her,” I went on. “I’m surprised Stratton hasn’t.”

“He may have already. He said something about ‘getting me involved for my authority.’”

“Big Bad Don,” I joked. “Scarer of children.”

Don shrugged. “What else do you know about Larry?”

I thought and then quickly corrected what I’d said. “Actually, he’s no longer Assistant Dean. He’s probably now Acting Dean. He takes over for Rebecca, when she replaces Catlin.”

Don laughed. “You have very formal rules of succession.”

“We’ve got to. People are always leaving before they can be replaced.”

“Why?”

“Promotions. Better opportunities. Suddenly taking jobs they’ve been quietly interviewing for.” I grinned. “One of our department heads secretly got a law degree just so she could tell the school to ‘Go to Hell’ and walk away.”

“She was that polite?”

“This is a civilized world.”

Don shook his head, as if amazed..

“And this looks like garbage,” I said, pointing to his now-dark phone. “This is such an good place to work when no one’s making you crawl up your butt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Larry isn’t just Assistant Dean on top of his teaching. He’s also one of the union leaders. As Assistant Dean, he has no power – not really. As I said, he’s mainly Rebecca’s back-up man. But as Dean – even for a year – he’s right out front. And this is an important year for the union – proposed union. That’s what the fight’s all about. And Larry’s bright enough to know how to use his position. It’s what some people always say about it being good that Rebecca can’t really do her job. Because – as a result – even if it’s accidental – she doesn’t do much harm.”

“Larry’s better?”

“Larry’ll be terrific. And he’ll take this opportunity to further the union.”

Don hesitated. “Are you for it?”

“Neither for nor against. And that’s a pretty personal question.”

“I thought it might be.” He paused again. “But I’m still not following something. What would be wrong with Larry Marsden having some power?”

I tried to explain. “Well, with Catlin dead – and he was completely anti-union – he felt teachers were bright enough to speak for themselves. Well, Greg Stratton’s the Board’s main defense. It doesn’t want the union... doesn’t want to raise salaries... and benefits... and hire a whole lot of full-time teachers to replace all the far cheaper adjuncts. And it’s not that the part-timers are bad at what they do. But, for one thing, there’s less continuity – they’re often working two or three quarter-time jobs, so it’s hard to get hold of them. And that undercuts every department. So with the Board already cutting tenure positions every way it can, the faculty – with any kind of organized leadership – will fight.”

Don seemed to be listening – carefully. But I could tell he either wasn’t interested or wasn’t really understanding. When I realized that, I said, “That’s why this e-mail is such nonsense. It’s someone’s dumb politics.”

At that moment, his phone rang. “Burris,” he said, glancing at the read-out. To me, he said, more quietly, “It’s the station.” Then he listened for a half-minute, saying, “Yeah,” two or three times. Then he ended the call.

“It’s the Dean’s Office. They want to see me, too.”

“I bet Rebecca got the e-mail. Or Greg showed it to her. You’d better get up there.”

”What could they want?”

“The whole thing to go away, I’m sure. Or at least kept entirely in the school. Though if I know Greg, he called the local news right after he phoned you – if not before.”

“Why would he do that? If he wants it kept quiet?”

“To assure them it was a prank. And make them think exactly otherwise. I told you, it’s all dumb politics.”

“But nothing’s really happened.”

“The news is full of nothing. Especially the local branch.”

“Then what’s Stratton mean about ‘my authority?’”

“I told you. He probably wants to intimidate this girl – find out who put her up to this. Because she’s too new to think of this thing alone. And why’d she wait almost a week?”

“Is it possible it has nothing to do with politics? That she just saw something and didn’t know who Larry Marsden was until more recently – like today?”

“That possible... anything is. Who knows how people think? And who knows what Rebecca and Greg want? I’m lousy at politics. I was never trained for. I’m good at teaching easy stuff, and designing simple things, and swapping jokes with guys who’ve decided to stay on the force.”

Larry smiled and then seemed to consider. “At least, we can find the girl. You said that shouldn’t be hard.”

“You can start with the registrar – to check the girl’s schedule. Though right now, she’s probably at lunch.”

Where I should be, I wanted to tell him. Because I knew Pete was waiting.

“And after that, check with the dorm people,” I went on. “I think that’s now under Student Affairs. To see where she lives on-campus if she’s not living at home. Because as a freshman, there’s almost no chance she’d be sharing an apartment. And if it turns out there really is something behind what she’s saying, then follow up with Larry. He’s an easy-going guy – pretty straight-forward. He’d have no problem talking with you.”

“He’ll probably call his lawyer first, these days. And if I go even the least bit wrong, he’ll sue the department.”

“Nah, Larry’s a good guy... even if he has to be nice to Rebecca – and Greg. That’s only his job. And, at this point, he’s not going to do anything to endanger the union.”

“So where do I go first? Don asked. “Varner or Stratton?”

“Call Rebecca. Greg’s expecting you. And if the only reason Rebecca called is because she got the same e-mail, maybe they’re already together.”

“You coming with me?”

“I’m overdue for lunch.”

“Then just hang on.” And he called a number that evidently the station had given him. “Hi,” he soon said. “This is Don Burris from the police department. I was asked to call.”

He was probably talking with Rebecca’s protective assistant, Patricia McCune, and I almost wished Don had put the call on speaker. “Yeah, I’ll wait,” he went on. Then he looked at me.

“Rebecca’s always busy.” I said. “And Patricia defends her well. Though I’m surprised they’re not both at lunch.”

“Maybe they are... it’s Larry Marsden. He wants to see me.”

“And taking advantage of their being at lunch.”

“I don’t know. His other phone just rang.”

He suddenly started talking into his own phone. “Yeah. I can get to your office. I’m already on campus.” He clicked off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. “Ready?” he asked me.

“Noooo,” I protested

“Come on... he’s your friend. This’ll be easier to untangle with you there.”

“How about I chase down Heather Ackerman instead? Stratton did ask.”

“Let’s see Marsden first.”

I gave in. Though before I led Don up to the second floor of Waldron Hall, I texted Pete that I’d be late.

Larry may have phoned from Academic Affairs, and he was waiting there for us. But he immediately led us to his far simpler office, down the hall. Rebecca wasn’t ready to move into Catlin’s office it seemed – she felt it was ‘too soon’. So Larry wasn’t using hers.

Compared to Catlin’s, or even Rebecca’s offices, Larry’s was merely functional: a grey metal desk, grey bookcases, grey swivel and side chairs, and black file cabinets. I got the feeling they ran out of grey paint. And a funny thing happened when Don first saw Larry. It was almost a double take. Don hadn’t recognized Larry’s name, but he must’ve seen Larry at our house or even around town. Because they both simply nodded and then moved on.

“How can I help?” Don asked, without explaining why I was along.

“I’m the sidekick,” I told Larry.

“That’s right. You used to be a cop.” He laughed. “Reverting to type?”

“Yup,” I said, and left it at that. He needed to talk with Don, and I wanted to get to Pete.

“What do you want me to do?” Don almost repeated.

“I’m not really sure,” Larry admitted. “But let me tell you what we know. First off, there is no Heather Ackerman. I mean, there is, and she would have been an incoming freshman. But Waldron was her safe school – it’s almost everyone’s – and she got wait-listed to several better. At the last minute, she forfeited her deposit here and chose Emerson.”

“Do you understand this?” I asked Don.

“Oh, yeah.. We went though it with our kids.”

“Good,” Larry said, and he went on. “Anyway, our computer folks set up all the new student accounts in advance – well in advance – early this summer. So they created one for Heather and haven’t gotten to deleting it. In fact, they hadn’t yet been told that she wasn’t a student.” He smiled at Don. “It’s one of our busy seasons, and all our departments don’t exactly have time to communicate with each other. Admissions. The registrar. Academic Affairs. Someone took advantage of that.”

Larry was talking quickly, but Don was following fine.

“But one of our IT guys was able to tell us that the e-mail had been sent from the library – our library, not the one across the street.”

That was the town library.

“And I’ve already spoken with the librarians – both of the people working in the computer area before lunch. Unfortunately, they can’t tell us a thing – but that’s not abnormal. It’s only the first week of classes, and they don’t even know their new work-study students yet, let alone be able to recognize one of three hundred new freshman.” He laughed. “That takes a while for all of us, and, of course, we never really do know all the student names. But you see the full-time students enough on a campus this small, so that you can at least smile and nod at them.”

“Do they know your names?” Don asked. “The faculty and staff? And administration?” “I doubt it. There’d be no reason.”

Don nodded again. “So this could be a case of a student seeing someone and not knowing who they were and then finding out later?”

“Or even thinking they knew,” Larry suggested. “I mean, be realistic... we all dress pretty much the same – all the men. Put us in a line-up, and every male professor’s wearing jeans, a tweed jacket, business shirt, crew neck sweater in season, and dress or running shoes.” He glanced at my feet. “Or work boots.”

“But high end,” I said, grinning.

“The only reason I’m in khakis,” Larry went on, “is I’m now – temporarily – Administration – Acting Dean. That means I gotta wear a tie when I’m in this office – well, the one I will be in. But I’ll still look like everyone else.”

It was true: I was wearing jeans, one of my half-dozen tweed jackets Pete had picked up for me in thrift stores when he was out costume shopping, and an L.L. Bean dress shirt with a button-down collar. When I was in the shop or on stage, often working up a twenty-foot ladder, I stripped to an equally well-made L.L. Bean t-shirt.

“So if someone did see someone they thought was possibly me,” Larry continued. “They could be easily mistaken.”

Don again nodded, then asked,” What were you wearing the night of the faculty party?’

That seemed to surprise Larry, and maybe he realized Don was sharper than he expected. For a moment, Larry needed to think.

“Pretty much what I’m wearing now,” he admitted. “Except I swapped the tweed jacket for a navy blazer and was wearing a dark tie.”

“We could’ve been twins,” I told Don. “In a room full of clones.”

“Highly educated one,” Larry cracked. “You’d think we’d know better.”

Don laughed. “That’s really not important, anyway. We’re trying to figure out who sent the e-mail and why. We’re not trying to figure out where you were.”

“I went to the party with my wife, and then we went home... pretty much around the same time that everyone did.” He looked at me. “Eleven?”

“Pretty much,” I confirmed to Don.

“In any case, that’s all I can give you,” Larry seemed to finish up. “I know Greg Stratton is waiting to see you. He told us about the e-mail as soon as he got it.”

“Then you didn’t get one, too?” Don asked.

“I didn’t – I don’t know about Rebecca... That’s Dean Varner... Acting President Varner. Pat monitors her e-mail more than Rebecca does, and Pat didn’t say anything.”

“‘Pat’ is ‘Patricia McCune,’” I told Don. “Rebecca’s assistant.”

“I guess I get Abby now,” Larry told me, “and Pat moves up.”

Of course, Don and I knew something that Larry didn’t. But it wasn’t ours to tell.

“That’s interesting,” Don gently interrupted. “Is there any reason only Greg Stratton would get this?”

Larry thought. Then he smiled. “Well, there’s a polite answer to that, and one I really don’t feel comfortable saying. And the only reason I even mention it is because if I don’t, my friend over there...” he indicated me “...won’t let me forget it.”

I didn’t know what was coming.

“But the polite answer – and this is fairly common knowledge, at least on campus – is if you want to get something done quickly – say there’s a building on fire – and if you have a choice of telling Rebecca or Greg – you’re not going to tell Rebecca.”

Don turned to me. “You’re right. He’s much better at politics.”

Larry turned to me. “What have you been saying?”

“Only good stuff,” I insisted.

“Well, thanks,” Don told Larry. “I’ll see what we can do. But first, I need to see Greg Stratton.”

“And I’m going to lunch,” I insisted.

Or so I thought. But at that moment, Rebecca walked in – tailed by Patricia McCune.

“There you are,” Rebecca said. “I thought you might be.”

She was talking to Larry – who quickly introduced Don, adding, “You know Gil.”

We all nodded, and I was grateful that Larry hadn’t added, “He’s here ‘cause he’s an ex-cop.” I’m not sure Rebecca remembered that, and I knew it didn’t matter.

“That’s even better,” Rebecca decided, I guess meaning that Don was there. “I was just about to ask Larry how he made out.”

So Rebecca had known Larry had called the station, and he wasn’t just taking advantage of her being away for lunch. It made sense that it was something she’d delegated.

“Why don’t you come into my office and tell me what you think this is about?” she told Don. Roughly meaning, “This office is too cramped for five of us.”

But that cornered Don. “Actually,” he said, politely, “Greg Stratton’s expecting us. That’s why I was on campus when Mr. Marsden called.

“Doctor,” Rebecca gently corrected, and it was the default title for most of the teachers on campus. Except for those lowly arts folks like Pete and me, with our puny MFAs. Or the Business people, who had their own range of degrees.

“And Patricia will take care of that,” Rebecca went on. “Could you, please?”

“I’ll call Greg now,” Patricia said. And she disappeared out the door.

Rebecca followed, Don said “Thanks” to Larry, and I was about to peel away, when Don grabbed my shoulder. “You’re not sending me into that rat’s nest alone,” he commanded.

“She’s not a rat,” I insisted, wanting to add, “Rats know their way around mazes.” But Pete would have kicked me.